Sailing the High Seas Shipping Collection
by picaropicara
Summary: A selection of shipfic involving various different characters. Come on in, there's something for everyone. We've got your yaoi, we've got your yuri, hell we've even got WTF, all PG. Ships you can read to your dear old mother. Give it a try.
1. Unconventional

**Unconventional – A BakFou Drabble**

He knew there were going to be problems in this most unconventional of relationships. But then any relationship involving Fou was going to be both unconventional and problematic anyway, thanks to her wonderfully mercurial temperament. Still he mused, as he stared up at her gate, she wouldn't be the same without it. He relaxed in the warm environment, feeling the ground tingle with the hum of her.

"You're late."

He didn't bother opening his eyes, letting a cocky smile spread across his face

He felt her hair touch his face as she bent over him.

"And lock that door."


	2. Memory

**Memory – A Lavi/Cho One-Shot**

A perfect memory was both a curse and a blessing. The good memories never faded, like bright pictures in his mind, but neither did the bad. But there was an advantage. When he lay awake at night, unable to degrade the memories he is forced to analyse them as if scratching at them like this will eventually kill them. Each quiet moment leads to a contemplation, a consideration of the chosen memory and it is through this he has discovered that no memory is black and white. There may be an overwhelming emotion, but there are always undertones of another. Everything is bittersweet, sweetbitter.

He discovered this when thinking about Chomesuke.

There are two moments in his mind that define the short time she was with them.

_~ She shivers behind the flags, trying desperately not to breathe, to quell the tears that drip down her face and catch in the moonlight, betraying her emotions to him. She cannot help it, her face seems made to constantly show off her emotions, from her wide and infectious grins to her increasing fear and sadness. Her thin human disguise shakes under his hand with fear and with upset. She is warm and it is hard to remember that she is an Akuma. Even later upon viewing the body of her friend she tries to hide her emotions, turning her back to her unlikely companions when she cannot control the rictus of fear that stills her face. Lavi thinks that perhaps he is the only one who hears her detached murmur and understands her fear. A moment later the thought is forced from his mind as the Level Three snatches her from in front of him and he slips into battle mode. _

_~ The other is the striking image of her face, twisting and contorting, marked by it's black star as she tells him that she is going to die. Through no fault of hers. Angry worms twist in his gut at the thought that she was created to be this fragile, born to die. Her tiny butterfly existence is nothing compared to his. Minutes later he stares back, unable to take his eyes off her as she falls. At that moment she's not even human, but he always remembers her as such, her big brown eyes soft, and a warm farewell smile imposed over the grotesque yellow casing of her forced machinery. He refuses to think of her as a machine, even now. Gramps tells him the Bookman way, "Don't get lost in the moment, don't cry, there isn't the time." There wasn't then, but there always is time later, and this memory, this always drags water from his eyes in the dark._

He knows it is not Bookman Junior who records these memories, it is Lavi. Lavi would not abandon Cho to a cannibal demon and Lavi cannot let her pretty, annoyed smile go. For a while he wondered what this meant, assuming it was just his natural and uncontrollable attraction to pretty faces. But he has to try and apply the Bookman logic as Gramps would say. Look at the moments, look at the movements and finally understand that, no matter how brief their meeting, no matter how few memories he does have of her, they all bring the same warming sensation of underlying affection. Perhaps only Gramps and he know how the little moments, the little pictures and choices change the courses of generations, of lives, and Cho was a change to him, a little change in the gathering moment of the fact that he cannot combine his two selves, but neither can they be wholly separate. It hurts, it always hurts, but if the alternative was to never have known Cho, he would never go back.


	3. Kin

**Kin – A Krory/Cho One Shot**

Her kimono dropped over her bare shoulder. He felt the tingle start, somewhere behind his teeth and tongue.

No one but Eliade knew the inherent sensuality of his Innocence. As an increasingly asexual person, Krory too denied it, punished himself for it. But the plain facts is that he is attracted to demons. He would like to think that there is some gothic imagery there, that he is attracted to those who are on the inside what he resembles on the outside but the facts are physical: his body, through his Innocence, is attracted to Akuma. When Cho arrived he found himself increasingly drawn to her. His thoughts could be running elsewhere, and generally were, but he always looked up with a start to find her standing in front of him.

Her human form made it worse. Her youthful naivety reminded him of his friends, his first true friends in Lavi and Allen. Her smile and her brightness were worlds away from the dark, manipulative symbiosis of Eliade's love. But she was an Akuma. How could he possibly begin to sort out his feelings for her as a person from the predatory instinct of his vampirism?

"Drink up."

Instinct wrestled thought in his mind and within a breath he found himself poised irresistibly over her shoulder. The scent of Akuma blood overrode everything else but he thought he could smell flowers under the sweat and that overbearing blood-scent. His nose itched as if he'd just inhaled thick smoke. He closed his eyes, to block out everyone else, embarrassed by his blood lust, by the sensual neediness of his Innocence. He stood in the blackness of his mind's eye, poised and ready... But the image of her white shoulder would not leave him. From the shoulder to the face, pulled in some childish pout of annoyance. In his mind he wanted to kiss her, lightly, chastely, thank her for saving him. Instinct wanted him to devour her. He cannot tear apart the mesh of desire and blood-hunger. He quavered for a moment. Image overrode instinct and Innocence, leaving him slightly nauseous. He pulled back and opened his eyes, sucking in air that didn't taste like blood and hormones. He turned away, hid his face.

"I won't drink the blood of a friend." Instinct growled within.

"A friend?" She sounded surprised. He wondered if she'd had friends in her previous life... before she became an Akuma. He knew she was blushing, the heightened feeling of his Innocence alerted him to every rush and fall of her tainted blood.

"But I'm an Akuma!" She seemed preoccupied, flustered for the sake of her companions. But he knew it was for herself to. Friendship was not something an Akuma encountered. Before Headquarters, it wasn't something he had encountered either. He absorbed the knowledge of kinship to drown the internal baying for blood.

"You being an Akuma is not reason enough for me to drink your blood."

There it was. That had to be thought about. But not now.


	4. Waiting

**Waiting – A Johnny/Suman One-Shot**

_A/N: This is a story about a gay relationship. If you don't want to read it, head over to the menu and you'll find some other options. I apologise in advance for the angst, but Exorcist HQ isn't really a place for constant sunshine and happiness, it's a military headquarters._

Johnny had always lacked comfort. He'd come from a big family with many siblings and a mother who could not share enough love with her children. Suman provided that love. It wasn't unusual, Exorcists' often left families outside, families who couldn't understand the death and the horror they faced so often. So they turned to those who could.

Suman had had another lover in the Headquarters, a man whose name he never spoke, and so Johnny never knew. He didn't need to know. What he did know was that the man had been nervous, clumsy, new. He had clung to the older Exorcist as Johnny did now and Suman had loved him, poured love into his naivety. Such a rare commodity on the battlefield. He had died. Somewhere, somehow. The deaths rolled into one. Johnny had probably read the report, or at least correlated it with other data, tried to find a pattern. They didn't talk of it much. But then Suman didn't talk that much either. He let Johnny do their talking, let his nervous babbling wrap around him like a blanket, laughing, teasing at his neuroses occasionally.

Johnny had been crying when Suman found him, hunched in a corner of the empty Mess Hall. He couldn't remember why now, maybe Reever had snapped at him unintentionally, maybe one of Komui's mad robots had torn through his experiments. Maybe he just felt lonely. Suman had sat down next to the young man and waited for the tears to run their course to bubbling hiccups.

"Do you play chess at all?"

In his misery Johnny hadn't even noticed his presence. Through steamed glasses he saw a man, not old although his eyes weren't young either. A smile. An unpretentious, uncalled for smile. He nodded uncertainly at the question.

"There's a board in my room. Come on, we can talk."  
Johnny was fairly certain that Suman hadn't talked much at all that night, but when he did he made Johnny laugh. Everything had started that way, over that chess board. When Johnny was upset their play was light, they talked of theory, laid wagers sometimes. When Suman was upset their play was intense and silent. It became a metaphor for their entire relationship, dark yet comforting nights alone in his room. He'd finally won a game against Suman the first time they kissed. Some move that he'd read about in between work. Suman had laughed out loud when he'd pulled it, not expecting it at all.

When Suman had to leave, he took the chess board to Johnny's room. He laid it under the bed then climbed in beside him and pulled him close. They took comfort in the warmth of each other, but Johnny was always left desolate when he rolled onto the cold sheets in the mornings when he had gone. He tried not to cry, he'd got better at not crying with his help. He threw himself into work and waited, earnestly, for Suman to come back. He set up the chess board every night before dinner, dusted it and laid the pieces out, in preparation. No matter how long he waited.

Even on the night they said Suman's patrol had been lost. He laid down his fork, went to his room and sat by the white side till the candle burned down.

That night he dreamed of Suman, dreamed and took comfort in the wait. He would be back. They hadn't finished their game.


	5. Princess

**Princess – Road/Lenalee One-Shot Suggested by Episode 11**

_A/N: This is a story about a gay relationship. If you don't want to read it, head over to the menu and you'll find some other options. I'm not entirely sure I like the second part of this, but it seemed to lack something before. Comments?_

Road had fought a few Exorcists in her time, but she'd never met one as fragile looking as this. Unconscious, lolling in the chair, she looked just like a porcelain doll. Road was fascinated. She'd heard the white-haired one call her Lenalee. She was less pathetic than the neurotic brunette insomniac they'd been toying with, seemed willing to stand up to her. Road reflected that she'd really rather be facing Lenalee than Allen. It seemed more appropriate. And more fun. She stroked the girl's dark green hair appreciatively. It reminded her of Tyki's hair. She wished the Earl had given her a female sibling, a sister like this with dark and dangerous beauty. Lero fussed and fretted in the background as she draped herself over the girl's lap. Yes, she wanted someone just to herself. The twins were so wrapped up in each other, Tyki attached to his human toys and the Earl focused intently on his plan. But this one was so foolishly tied to others as well, to the boy, to the Headquarters... Road pinched Lenalee's cheeks in annoyance. She'd had to subdue her like this for the plan but Road had far preferred her before, when she was lashing out at **her**, concentrating entirely on Road.

"He's coming! Road, he's coming!" Lero whined and buzzed, swooping behind her.

"Shh Lero, you'll wake up the princess... and only her true love's kiss should do that..."

She leaned forward and delicately brushed the green ringlets away from Lenalee's face, gently tilting the girl's head down to meet her own. She thought she saw a flicker of something in the Exorcist's hazed eyes, some struggle. She pretended for a moment that it was love. They shared a breath for just a moment, a lingering moment when she heard him arrive behind her.

"Time to play, princess..."

Their banter amused her, the pitiful way in which he clung to his faith. His wrong faith. She had him pinned, this white knight for the dark princess. Killing him would be fun, but not as fun as this, this interplay of power and weakness. Road liked holding all the cards, and with him sprawled at her feet she held a full deck up her sleeves. Power. The fun here would be breaking him not killing him. Where Princess Lenalee was strong inside, this one was weak. He had areas to be exploited. She knew if she faced Lenalee, there would have been none of this toying. Princess would have fought her to the ground. This one clung to his weak morals. Morals would be the basis of his attachment to her princess. Cut those ties and Princess would only have her.

No matter what his displays of strength, she knew how to get to him. As a 'human'.

Shrouded in his own knightly colours, his own strange uniform she would ride him down and win her lady's favours.


	6. Poor Mouse

**Poor Mouse – A Bak/Lenalee... interaction**

Lenalee was on her way down to the docks to depart for her next mission when she all but fell over a man, hunched up on the stairs.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. You probably shouldn't sit on the stairs though: if Kanda trips over you he'll cut you into pieces before you can say sorry."

Sniffling, Bak raised his heads just out of his hands and found himself looking straight into a girl's cleavage. Immediately the rash started to spread and he threw his head and hands straight up, smacking his head into the wall behind him. Dizzied and confused, he started to fall forward again, trying to hide the rash on his cheeks.

Lenalee threw her hands up in shock at the man's distorted and blotchy, red features, causing her to just miss catching him as he fell forward and smacked his head on the stones beside her.

"Oh no... HELP, I need medical aid!" She shouted up the stairs as she leaned forward to stroke the hair out of the way and cool his forehead.

Bak's last confused memory was of a hazy girl with a pretty voice, telling him it would be okay, before blacking out completely. _At least Lenalee didn't see me like this._

_**A/N: **This is a kind of continuation/omake of my fic When The Cat's Away. But it is kinda cute. I felt bad ragging on Bak so much._

_Anyway, what few readers I have, I need your help:_

_The collection is mostly an attempt to get me to start writing again in drips and drops and with eyeball-gnawing slowness. The problem is that whilst I have a surfeit of inspiration for the pairings I do enjoy, I'm sorely lacking in motivation and inspiration for the pairings I don't.  
So I'm searching for prompts for any of the pairings below. PM me with your /Kanda  
Lenalee/Allen  
Lavi/Allen  
Lavi/Kanda  
Kanda/Allen_


	7. Milk & Honey

**Milk & Honey – A Noise/Miranda One-Shot**

When she was sick he had spent every minute he could by her bed. When the fever had set in, he'd made ice packs or cold flannels to put on her forehead. When she had completely lost her voice he'd made sweet, cool drinks with Jerry to soothe her throat. When she'd got her voice back enough to start telling him that he'd get sick too, he told her not to worry and handed her nourishing soups.

"If I get it too, you'll just have to look after me."

She took a certain amount of pleasure in forcing him to bed when he started to complain of being dizzy and hot.

She took over doctor's duties for him herself, reminding him that it was her fault he got sick because he'd caught it off her.

Unfortunately she discovered that she was nowhere near as good at playing nursemaid as he was. Her homemade ice packs had a tendency to crumble and drop fragments of ice everywhere, getting everything damp. He told her he found it refreshing through a laugh that was more than half cough.

When he took a turn for the worse, she slept on a pallet in the same room, nearby and ready to help him. He never woke her up for help but she felt better for it anyway.

She started to fear she'd poisoned him with her far inferior soups. He never finished them but always croaked a polite apology when he had to leave them on the bedside table unfinished. Concerned, she asked Jerry to test one once. He'd said it was an accident when he choked and knocked the bowl onto the floor but Miranda was certain he was just sparing her feelings. He'd offered to make her a new bowl quickly but she declined. Noise had devoted all his time to getting her well again and she was going to do the same for him, unaided.

It was whilst she was sleeping alone that she remembered something from her youth. Whilst she was working for a nouveau riche merchant family, the children and herself had caught a sickness that attacked the throat and made it hard to swallow, much like this cold. She remembered little of the time, having been caught up in a fever, but she did remember the children's nurse taking care of them. When it was too hard for them to swallow normal food she'd brought them a dish that managed to soothe their throats, cool them down and calm the wracking cough. Inspired by the memory she slipped out of the room and ran down to the kitchen.

When Noise next woke up, she was perched on the bed beside him holding a bowl.

"Open your mouth."

He obeyed weakly, slightly worried about what this new concoction held in store. Carefully, Miranda fed him small, chunks of bread soaked in milk and honey, that slipped down his parched throat without pain. She sang a little as she fed him gently. He smiled and relaxed, secure in the hands of his clumsy angel.

_**A/N: I kinda hoped this would turn out better. I'd intended to update more frequently but the net has been down in my complex this weekend.**_


	8. Destructive

**Destructive – A Krory/Eliade One-Shot**

Akuma don't leave ghosts. When they are destroyed, the souls powering them are purified, and leave. But to Krory, Eliade was not a normal Akuma. Her strength, her vitality, her essence – they could not be destroyed. They follow him even now. Ghost is the only way he can possibly describe it. That feeling that she is constantly hovering nearby, purring to him. Sometimes he thinks he can feel her hand, or her hair on his shoulder.

Sometimes he can taste her blood.

It comes to him now that he can't pull detangle their twisted attachment, can't refine the lust and attachment he felt for her from the knowledge that he was constantly being drawn to her by his Innocence. There was always a mutual need between them, that he knows. Even though their last words were bitter, were harsh, a rebuttal of any affection for each other, they did need each other. He constantly craved her attention, her acceptance of him – his appearance, his urges. For whatever she too had needed him, perhaps needed the danger of being close to an Accomodator, perhaps just needed someone as twisted as she was. She fought tooth and nail to keep him close to her. Maybe that's why he feels she is still so close.

He uses that feeling all the time.

Killing her was just a separation, a way of parting the dark Eliade from the light Eliade, setting her soul free so it could walk with him now. Destroying the hate and destructive ties to purify not only her soul, but their relationship. With every Akuma destroyed, he destroys a little bit more of the darkness, and the feeling of comfort, of closeness intensifies. So does the sadness. He would give anything to have made things different, for her to have been human, for their ending to be a happy one. But he found himself unable to imagine anything other than that fight. With their history it was how it had to end. But if she hadn't been an Akuma, could he have kept her longer?

"I had to destroy you." He tells her ghost at night. "Because you were an Akuma. I had to destroy the Akuma so you could live." It doesn't entirely make sense, but it feels right.

"And I will continue to destroy Akuma. Otherwise what reason did I have to destroy you?"

* * *

_**A/N: ****There**_ _**no words for how much I hate this fic right now. It just ended up being me trying to decipher their relationship and... well it kinda sucks. I can't think of any way to improve it so here it is, offer me your suggestions. I'll try harder.**_


	9. Hope

**Hope – An Anita/Cross One-Shot**

She thinks she has loved this man for as long as she can remember. He dominates her memories of everything from childhood. Her mother had loved him too, she knows this. Their support of the Black Order for her meant 'support Cross in everything he does'. For now her body and her bed were his support, and her heart, though she couldn't tell him that.

She traces the scars on his back with a finger, listening to his light breathing, feeling his hair brushing against her arm. He doesn't normally hang around afterwards, but she knows he is exhausted. She can see it in the bags under his eyes that he hides with his seductive smiles. She knows this won't last long, but for now she pretends, pretends that this red haired ladies man is hers and hers alone. She can pretend that he'll return soon, instead of knowing that he may never come back. It's a dangerous self-deception, but it's worth it for the warmth of the pretense.

He shifts and draws her closer to his body. She tenses, but he's still asleep, for now. He'll wake up soon though and then it'll be business. She thinks he does it to make it easier on her, to kill the mood quickly. He'll give her orders, disguised as instructions and she'll follow them to the letter, dispatching letters, organising messengers, creating a disguise. Whatever he says she will do, because he is a hero and they need heroes. And because it's him. She stares into his face, resting against her breasts and strokes his hair. She knows what this man does, but honestly she doesn't know who or what he is, just what he expects from her. What he gives to her is private and personal. She wonders if even he knows what it is.

She pushes his fringe out of his eyes, careful not to wake him. Hope. Everytime she sees this man, thinks of this man, hears of this man, dreams of him, she feels hope. Hope that gives her strength to do what she does, and strength to let go of him each time without crying.

She won't cry, and she won't ask questions, even the one's she is desperate to know the answers to.

"Do you love me?"

"Have I done my mother honour?"

"Will you come home to me?"

It's the burden that all who get involved with the Order must bear, and although it is nothing compared to the burden the Exorcists themselves shoulder she will bear it with pride, for her hope and her hero.

_**A/N:**** Can you help? I'm looking for an episode to reference for one of my fics. The episode in question has a scene in which Allen is standing alone by a window when Lenalee comes up the stairs with a lantern. Muchos gracias in advance. The Kanda/Lavi fic 'In Training' is also getting a shift to it's own story, apologies to those whose reviews are lost.**_


	10. Sleep

**Sleep - A Reever/Komui One-Shot  
**

A scream and a crash from the Science Department let him know that it was happening again. With a groan and a mutter he rolled out of his makeshift bed in his office and wandered down the stairs to find exactly what he expected: the Supervisor surrounded by chaos and destruction.

It had started happening recently, since they'd lost contact with the Exorcists on their way to Edo. Stress, loss, whatever the cause, Komui was being plagued by sleep disturbances that were currently manifesting themselves as bouts of sleepwalking that terrorised the Science Department.

Sure enough, the curly haired man was pacing down an aisle amongst their experiments, completely unaware of his surroundings. Behind him, two of the Department were hurriedly collecting a pile of papers and broken glass they'd dropped. Sighing, Reever caught up to his harried Supervisor and gently put his arm around him. This close he was painfully aware of his superior's pallid colour in contrast to the deep bags around his eyes. Without his glasses and trademark beret and smile the man looked incredibly fragile and young. With his charisma and intellect, it was all too easy to forget just how young the man leading them was. A pang of sorrow and affection grabbed his heart as the man beneath his guiding arm turned frantically, muttering something in Chinese. All he caught was the word Hevleska, repeated over and over, although he was certain his name cropped up once.

With an exasperated but affectionate smile, he steered his sleeping supervisor around and began to lead him towards Hevleska's chamber. It wasn't unusual to find Komui in there on a sleepless night, his back to the railings, eyes closed, listening to the hum of the subterranean Exorcist. It soothed him when he was distressed, maybe it would do so now. At the least, Hevleska could prevent him wandering off and surprising unsuspecting scientists.

Komui seemed to relax when the hum and warmth of Hevleska's home hit them, his shoulders untensed and he leaned back into the man propping him up. Hevleska looked over and her giant face pulled into a smile. She hovered close as Reever laid the Supervisor down in a corner, pulling off his labcoat to cover the shifting man. They both stayed silent to avoid waking him, watching as his movements became less frantic and stopped as his breathing became more rhythmic, his head falling forward onto his chest.

Reever lowered himself down with a wince, exhausted and sore himself from these night vigils. He tilted his head back and stared up through the pale green glow at the sky. Beside him Komui turned over, burying his face into his subordinate's shoulder with a sigh. Reever glanced down at the man with a smile. The work at HQ was hard for them all, but Komui kept it fun, kept their spirits light with his little pranks. He couldn't always keep up the facade though, and it was at times like these that he couldn't keep the premature worry lines from creasing his face.

Reever wished that he could smooth them away, that he could do something more for the man that kept them all going. But for as long as he'd known him, Komui never shared his feelings. Never shared the worries that must keep him up at night. He'd heard him once, alone in his office, berating himself, focusing himself.

"Don't wallow in the pain! Think only about... victory..." He'd heard papers hit the floor as Komui vented the frustrations that no one else could see. He'd wanted to go in, to say something, to try and help in any way, but he knew the man would just put on a goofy smile and crack a joke about his annoying paperwork. So he'd leaned there against the door listening to body-wracking sobs from the other side.

He loved this man, he reflected. Of course they all did in a way, followed him for love and the hope of eventually throttling him out of annoyance. But everything this man did inspired love, his hard work, his insane plans for efficiency, but most of all the love he poured back in the people around him.

With a sad smile, he let his head rest on top of Komui's, letting the man's breath reverberate through his skull. For that love, that incessant and unstoppable love, he would follow this man into Hell. He closed his eyes and placed his lips against the ruffled hair and just let it all wash over him, the exhaustion, the pain and the brief comfort they could gain. One day he'd let Komui know how he felt, but until then, he'd just support him with everything he could.

The hum faded into the background as sleep overtook him as well, leaving Hevleska awake, watching over her charges, humming her own lullaby of sorrow and loss and love.

_**A/N:**** Two in one night? Well, I'm suffering with Komui and I guess insomnia and headaches make me a more prolific writer. Really enjoyed writing this, it may be my OTP. As always, R&R**_


	11. Alpha & Omega

**Alpha & Omega - A Komui/Hevleska One-Shot**

She was older than them all, the oldest Exorcist in existence. She'd been alive long before him, and she'd live on long after him. Of them all, she was the ever-young. The constant in a constantly changing environment. Even when he'd first been drafted, she was the one that he'd turned to, that they'd all turned to. She was their mission embodied, Innocence embodied.

She'd never complained about her role, about her duties, about the Innocence that had swallowed her body and turned her into the towering Leviathan, the Guardian of the Innocence. Guardian of their Hopes. Komui had asked her once, if she resented it. Resented being stuck here, in the bowels of HQ, in a form far from her own. She said she could barely remember it, what had been before. Her sigh had ruffled his hair and clothing. The memories faded a little over the years.

"You must have been beautiful." He'd told her. She had laughed, and mimicked preening. He'd laughed along with her, but in his mind he longed to see her in a form he could touch, could be close to.

"I had long, blonde hair." She had announced one evening, apropos of nothing. He had glanced up at her in surprise.

"What? I can be vain too."

He loved her laugh, the way it vibrated in his chest when he sat there of an evening.

"I wonder what it is that draws you to that thing." Leverrier had announced once, upon finding him leaning over the rails, deep in conversation. Komui had turned on him a fury, had had to restrain himself from attacking the man. They'd spent so long together this way, that he could not help but think of her as she, as a woman. To have her suddenly denounced as an it, as if she was a machine... it burned. He hated the way she was used, forced to force Innocence into unwilling users, as if she had no feelings, as if her 'duty' overrode everything, including the fact that she cried at night, when the lab lights were dim and no one else was around.

They grieved together at the deaths caused by these experiments, at the desperation that was the driving force behind them. Her unearthly sobs haunted him everytime he brought a new Accomodator to her. Every new match was a reminder of what had gone before. Afterwards they stood silent together, him silently vowing that she would never be forced like that again.

They spent hours in pointless talking after hours, when he couldn't sleep. She never slept. He told her everything, his worries for the Exorcists, his agony at the forced cremation of his colleagues, no matter how necessary. He told her little stories of his robots gone mad and she advised him on where he went wrong. Together they came up with little amusements for the staff, little ways to lighten the burdens for a short time.

* * *

It eased her loneliness. It was her favourite part of the day, listening to him talk. Through his words she felt like she had grown to know everyone beyond her walls, the people that she saw once, if at all. She filed the memories away with the impersonal data of their Innocence, placing faces to names and predictions. It was her little way of helping Komui, of being part of his life in a way others couldn't. She was the only one he confided his grief in, and this way she could always find something to say, some way to lighten his mood with memories that she'd never made.

She knew this man like she'd known no other in Headquarters. She caught him staring at her sometimes and knew his thoughts as if they were her own. In some ways they were her own. She longed sometimes, for a way to compact her body, to make it human like Fou in Asia. She longed for a way to lay a cool hand on his forehead when he fell asleep mid-sentence, to hug him. To kiss him.

"Do you resent that body?" He'd asked once, not unkindly.

She'd shook her head in response. She'd never once resented her part in this all. Until she met him. It was so easy to become detached from reality. Before him, they had all been afraid of her, left her alone for days on end. Sometimes weeks. She felt like she had begun to lose herself in those times. Still she'd harboured no resentment. Until she met this man, and loved this man like nothing before. Then she'd resented the body that kept them apart.

She knew her duty. She knew her mind. She knew her constraints, and his. She couldn't bear to see him grow old without her. Every week he seemed a little older, a little further away. She'd never thought she had a heart left, until it broke at the sign of the first wrinkle. She had been distant that day and it had upset him, she could tell in his eyes. He'd left abruptly and hadn't returned for a week.

"What is wrong with you?" His voice had snapped her out of a reverie.

She hesitated. This secret was one best kept that way.

"WHAT?" His hands had gripped the railing tight, white, his beret falling to the floor. His voice had echoed round her, guilting her. "What have I done wrong?"

"You're growing older." The shock had calmed the rage a little and he looked bewildered.

"I suppose so..."

"I don't age. But I see you age every day." He had fallen silent. She could see his bright mind racing ahead, trying to make connections out of her statements. The silence remained unbroken for a long time. At last he had raised questioning eyes to her.

"I... don't want to see you die." Her voice had been more plaintive than she'd thought. She wished she could cry.

He had slept by her side that night. She curled around the platform like a cat, silent and watching.

"I love you." Komui reached out a hand to her giant face. "I'll love you when I'm old, when I have to walk with a cane. As long as you're here, I will love you. When I'm gone others will love you in my place. You're the first and last Exorcist. We owe you that."

_**A/N:**** The original ending for this was hilariously emo, so I had to edit it. I would have been ashamed to have shown that to anyone. I'm still slightly ashamed to show the sappy, but I have no other ending. I really like Hev, and it's a pity she doesn't play such an active role, considering how important her duty is.  
**_**_In other news, I now have a fic journal under picaropicara at LJ. This has links to all the High Seas fanfics, ideas, update news, _**_**and other unrelated DGM drabbles. There's a direct link on my profile as well.**_


	12. Comfort

**Comfort – A Komui/Allen One-Shot**

"Allen..." He didn't remember the boy looking this pale before. But then, he'd been through so much since Komui had last seen him, when he sent him off on this mission. His heart had been eaten, his body torn apart. Then the smiling boy in front of him had dragged himself up and fought, literally, clawed to repair himself and continue the fight. Komui wasn't sure he could have done the same in his place.

"Supervisor!" The boy stepped back a bit, suspiciously. "My Innocence doesn't need fixing..."

Komui flinched inside. Of course, that would be why Allen would think he had come to visit.

"I'm not here on business. Just seeing how you're feeling."

"A little tired." His smile seemed fake, his brightness forced. Allen looked away from Komui, as if he knew that he couldn't keep up the front in front of him.

"You should be in bed. The matron will have my head if she thinks I've made you get up."

Allen looks like he's going to argue for a moment, but settles back in bed anyway. Komui is sure that as soon as he leaves, Allen will get up again, but for now it will do.

Komui glanced around, for once at a loss about what to say. "Are you... eating well?" Allen replied by launching into a list of what he'd eaten that day, with recommendations too. It all seems so surreal, to have him back and sitting there just talking about food.

The debriefing had gone on for hours and each new part of the story had twisted Komui's heart just a little. The fighting, the pain. Miranda had been inconsolable during the debriefing, even though she knew they were alive, the memory of having lost them seemed ingrained into her. There were times when she wasn't sure they were really alive and with her, seemed suddenly convinced that they were dead. She spent most of her waking time checking on the others, reassuring herself. Another damage count for the Black Order.

Allen grew quieter and quieter in front of him, his eyes drooping. Komui watched, his head resting in his hand. He fixed the physical damage as well as he could. He repaired their Innocence-weapons, got them medical aid, patched up the bones and healed the cuts. But he could never fix the psychological damage. He wondered just what toll this all would take on the boy murmuring in front of him.

With a start, Komui realised that the room had been silent for some time. Allen had fallen asleep talking, was probably dreaming of dango or feasts. He watched the boy's face for some sign of the dream beyond, some little smile that would reassure him and let him leave.

He supposed that that was what he was really here for. Some kind of reassurance, that he hadn't done wrong in sending them there. That he hadn't betrayed them, that he hadn't broken them. The boy was inscrutable, even in sleep.

The silence seemed overwhelming and accusatory. The space between breaths seemed filled with ghostly whispers of accusations of wrongdoing. Without realising it, he began to fill the silence with words.

"Allen... I really did it this time, didn't I?" He glanced up at the boy's face worriedly. "I sent you into the belly of the dragon. Straight into the fire."

"I envy you in a way. Your Innocence. When you're thrown into a situation like that, into danger, you can fight. You can protect your friends." He smiled. "I can't do that. I have no Innocence, no weapon. I can't protect you. I can't protect Lenalee. I can't protect anyone."

"I just keep throwing you into danger and relying on you to protect yourself. I don't know if that works anymore. We've lost... so many... Even those we thought could protect themselves... I don't know that we can fight the Noah." The admission was a horrible relief.

"They keep giving me my orders, and the battles will keep coming, and the Noah will keep coming, and all I can do is send you off with a prayer and repair what comes back to me."

He laid a hand on Allen's bandaged arm gently.

"I don't know how much will come back next time." He seemed to be crying, although he didn't know when that had started.

"Ever since I've been here, they've told me not to get attached to my subordinates. 'It's a war', they say. 'People die'. I've tried to be stern. It's unimaginable I know, but I tried. I tell them the things that they don't want to hear, because I have to. I'm not supposed to offer comfort, I'm not supposed to listen to problems... but I can't help it. Lenalee isn't the only family I have here. She's not the only friend." His eyes traced the red curse marks on Allen's face. When his eye was dormant they looked so innocent. Like makeup on a circus clown.

"They've called a meeting. I don't know what it's about. It's probably bad. There's... a possibility that I'll be removed from my position. Or that General Cross will. Or that you will. I know the man they've sent and he's... He's a bad man, Allen."His knuckles went white as he clenched his fist. "And he's my superior. I... don't know if I can protect you from him. I couldn't protect Lenalee."

The sleeping Exorcist sighed in his sleep, startling the man out of his dark memories of the past.

"But I'll try. I promise I'll try."

_**A/N: **__**Yeah... I have no idea.**_


	13. Okay?

**Okay? - A Miranda/Lavi One-Shot**

Lavi laid a hand on the woman's shaking shoulders, only to trip away as she rocketed upwards in surprise. He stood with one hand out , feeling guilty but without knowing why.

"Um, are you alright? You seemed upset...?"

Placated somewhat, Miranda flopped back down onto her bench and resumed her unbreakable scrutiny of her kneecaps. Concerned by her silence, Lavi stepped forward again.

"What's up?"

She looked up, tears in her eyes. "You don't have to pretend to be nice to me!"

Lavi was pulled up short by her curt statement. "Huh, what?"

"You heard me! You hate me don't you! Gloomy, useless Miranda... Everybody hates me."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm useless, and I can't fight, and my Innocence doesn't last..."

"Miranda, listen to me, we don't hate you and your Innocence is NOT useless. It's about the biggest help we could possibly have right now." He gave her a bright, gentle grin. "It let's us keep fighting when otherwise we'd fail. That's a pretty important gift to us all."

Miranda looked at the floor in silence, tears still running down her face. Lavi crouched in front of her, staring up at her with his head on one side.

"I'm just useful. I don't mind being useful, I like being useful. It's a change from being useless... but I don't... nobody _likes _me. I'm just... there." She gestured with her Innocence bearing arm, which hummed in sympathy with her voice.

"Hey now!" Lavi reached out and stubbornly gripped her face in his fingers, turning her surprised face towards him. "I like you, okay?"

Miranda stiffened and twitched back in utter shock. She blinked twice and was unsurprised when the scenario disappeared and she found herself sitting back in her seat. She berated herself silently. Of course she was pathetic enough to daydream that she had friends – was also pathetic enough to dream that someone young and fun like Lavi would ever _like_ her. Sniffling, she collapsed forward over her knees again, oblivious to someone coming up next to her.

"What's up?"

Miranda looked up, confused. "I... um... nobody..." Lavi looked at her, concern obvious in his face. "Were you... just here...?"

"Nope, just came in from the Library. So, what's up?"

"I just... I get the feeling nobody... really... likes me..."

Confused and blank, Miranda repeated her words from before like Church catechisms. Lavi replied in turn, right up until:

"Hey now! I like you, okay?"

Once again she found herself scrutinising her kneecaps as footsteps approached her again. Her breath was fast and her heart was racing, much to her surprise. She tried frantically to calm herself down, unintentionally getting herself worked up instead. _Did Lavi just say he liked me... twice? _

"I just... I get the feeling that nobody really likes me..."

_He did. I heard him right, didn't I? He likes me! And it's not just because I'm useful! He actually... likes me!_ _I... no, I can't believe it. Obviously this is just a hallucination caused by lack of sleep. Or I'm dreaming. That's it, I've fallen asleep and I'm dreaming this because I'm pathetic and need affirmation from my self conscious. _

"Hey now! I like you, okay?"

_Three times... maybe he really does mean it. He seems sincere. It's Lavi, he has no reason to lie! But then again, it's Lavi, he likes everyone. ...Why did I say that? I don't mean for him to like me... like that... _Her eyes widened

"I'm just... there..." She murmured breathlessly.

_And he's there, and in a minute he's going to say it again. Watch him._

"Hey now! I like you, okay?"

_I... think he means it. Four times! … four times..._

She turned her stare to her Innocence on her right arm. It caught the light with a wicked gleam. She let out her breath in relief as she repeated her stock phrases of self-hate to Lavi. So that was what the problem was but more importantly _she wasn't asleep, this was real_. If she concentrated, she could turn it off. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind as she had been taught until she was interrupted by Lavi's fingers on her chin.

"Hey now! I like you, okay?"

She returned his smile and nodded back at him. "You like me."

He flashed her a bright grin and kissed the end of her nose. "Got it in one."

Miranda sat there blinking, completely frozen.

"He... he kissed my nose!" She blinked again.

"Hey." Said a red headed grin-machine. "What's up?"

* * *

_**A/N:**__** Man it's been a while since my last update. I really have to apologise for that, I had intended to update this monstrosity a lot faster but real life gets in the way sometimes. Thanks for all your reviews and comments, they're wonderful to get. To those I haven't replied to: I am very sorry, I've let them get away from me, but thank you very much for taking the time to say such kind things about my writing.**_

_**Once again, a plug to my LJ where you can find some D. Gray Man five minute prompts I've been doing recently. (Remove parentheses.)  
**_

picaropicara(.)livejournal(.)com SLASH tag SLASH five+minute+prompts


	14. Cocoon

**Cocoon – A Lenalee/Anita One-Shot**

She felt like a butterfly in a cocoon, barely conscious of the outside world, of the transformation she was undergoing. The air was warm and smelled like salt and fresh, if unfamiliar sea-smells. Somewhere there was a faint smell of perfume. The rocking motion barely bothered her, in fact it comforted her, made her drowsy and happy.

Beneath her head she could hear a heartbeat, regular and strong. It echoed around her head and drew all her attention. She remembered crying and crying hard a few hours ago, but the beat distracted her from the memory, at least for the moment. It disrupted all her thoughts on the matter and dragged her constantly back into the cocoon of sheets and bodies.

Hands moved behind her head, braiding then brushing out her long hair. It had it's own rhythmic cycle. Lenalee felt like she could lose herself in the twisted ropes of hair, sink between the cracks and hide there until she was swept out like flotsam on the tide with a sweep of Anita's fingers.

With a lazy movement, she grabbed one of the constantly moving hands and dragged it in front of her face for further study. The delicate white hands were so different to hers and she marvelled at them, turning them over to study the palm and back. She noted the warmth around the wrists, the softness. She mapped the veins, tracing them with lazy fingernails until she grew too tired and detached and let her hands fall into the cotton sheets bunched around them.

Their breathing fell into sync in the dim light, the sounds echoing from the timbers. They both waited there in limbo, in a coffin cocoon. Maybe, just maybe, if they stayed here they could sleep through it all. Through the whole war, and the terrible pangs of loss they were already hiding from.

* * *

_**A/N:**__** Named for the Decemberists' song. One more fic and this project will be over halfway through.**_


	15. Jealous

**Jealous – An Allen/Fou One-Shot**

"So what's this Lenalee girl like then?" Her question barely interrupted today's byplay of blows.

Panting, Allen seemed to give it some thought. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious as to why everyone is so interested in her. Bak... you..." She was irritated by the childish blush that coloured his cheeks and replied snidely, "I figured she must be pretty easy to have so many men making fools of themselves over her." She was delighted when his response was to fight back harder. He was just too easy to tease.

"She's not."

"Yeah?"

He glared at her, annoyed by her rude demeanour towards his friend. "We like her because she's kind to others." He said pointedly.

She ignored his jibe. "So she's weak. What else?"

"She's strong and she doesn't hide it. She's loving and dedicated, not just to the order but to her friends."

"Cut the girly diary crap, Walker." She parried a blow with a little more force than necessary. "Just give me the facts, not the mushy daydreaming."

"She protects others above all else. It's admirable. I have the greatest respect for her."

Fou snorted, jealous and goading. "Really? What about protecting yourself?"

Allen stepped back and stopped completely. Fou broke off her attack and danced back, unsure of his intentions.

"Tired of fighting, boy?"

His hair hung over his eyes, damp with sweat that ran down his nose and cheeks and into the crevices of dimples. She felt anger rise in her again. _The boy was smirking at her. Smirking. _

"You're trying to distract me aren't you?"

She wasn't completely surprised by the question, just surprised at how quick he'd cottoned on to Bak's orders of the day, nervous that he might have caught onto her less-than-subtle prying.

"Yeah. What of it?" She replied nonchalantly, transmuting her arms and placing her hands on her hips.

"And there you are always telling me to take the fight seriously." He glanced up at her with a smile. "Take your own advice. Fight me in all seriousness and I'll take you seriously."

She stood for a moment, stunned, before allowing a crafty grin to spread across her face. "You've got it coming now, boy."

He stopped her as she prepared to go back to her lair. "Actually you and Lenalee are quite alike, you know."

She tossed her hair indignantly. "Pah. That I don't believe."

He smiled mischievously in return, for a moment looking like the child he was. "You act the same when you're jealous."

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_**A/N:**** With this fic we are halfway through the High Seas project! Virtual high-fives all round for sticking this far and hello to anyone who has just jumped in. Just another 18 ficlets to go!**_


	16. Watched

**Watched – An Allen/Lou Fa One-Shot**

Allen was at the end of his tether. The whole day he'd felt uneasy, on edge... like prey. He let his head hunch down into his shoulders, feeling like there was a big bright bullseye painted there. His skin prickled at the feeling of eyes arrowing into him from somewhere nearby.

The halls of Asian Head Quarters were creepy enough without this horrible sensation. Allen was used to being _watched_, after all, all his movements were tracked by Timcanpy and various wireless golems for his own safety. He'd rather relied on him being watched sometimes. That kind of watching never usually made him feel this jumpy. It never had this kind of _intent_ behind it either.

A sound from behind made him jump and whirl, and he frantically scoped the corridor for any sign of a person. As usual, he was completely alone, which only put him more on edge. He shivered and wrapped his arm around himself protectively, vowing that he would at least make it to the dining area where at least he could be with other people.

Around the corner, Lou Fa pressed her back to the wall, holding her breath until she heard him start walking again. She breathed out in an excited little squeak and peered after him, clutching a small notebook to her chest. She'd been trailing him since morning, but still hadn't quite worked up the courage yet. She berated herself silently and scuttled off after him.

_It's only an autograph silly, just ask. It's Allen! He'll give me that smile (that smile!) and give it to me graciously. Maybe his hands will brush mine as he takes the book!_

She pressed a trembling hand against her rapidly heating cheeks. Caught up in her imaginings, she didn't notice Allen until she stepped on his heels. He whirled around like he'd been scalded, his jaw falling when he realised it was only her.

He grinned wryly. "Hey... Lou Fa. Are you alright?"

Her lips wriggled as she tried to make words but couldn't quite force sound out between them. "M'k!"

He flashed her a quick smile and stared into the corridor past her head, squinting into the shadows with a haunted expression.

"Uh... did you see anyone else behind me?"

_He's talking, he's talking!_ She shook her head emphatically, eyes shining as she tried to convey her usefulness through sheer body language.

"Hmm... hey... would you walk me to dinner? I, um, don't remember the way... or something." He was temporarily distracted from his stalker search by her increasingly enthusiastic expression and the way she seemed intent on occupying all of his personal space.

Lou Fa was absolutely certain that her heart was going to explode at the rate it was beating.

"'S! 'S!"

"Uh... right."

She never got her autograph, or worked out why he seemed to jump at every touch that evening. But she didn't really care. She was able to sit next to Allen, pour him his drink... She sighed at the thought. If only she'd brought scissors. No love shrine was complete without a lock of the love's hair. Maybe next time.

* * *

_**A/N:**__** She says that I touch her in a very special way / But I never go near her now without my pepper spray**_


	17. Grow

**Grow – A Kanda/Lenalee One-Shot**

She always seemed to have a hand on his hair, even though he'd made it clear that he really, really didn't want her to. It had been one of her favourite pastimes since she was a child, hiding in his room and weaving his hair into hundreds of little braids, or one long smooth plait, fingers moving deftly in the strands to pull them tight and close. Even with his back sullenly turned, he could feel her relaxing, breathing slowing and turning into a careless hum.

When she returned from the arc, she made the matron pull her close enough to brush the long black strands out onto the pillow, despite his grumbling and then forceful removal of the comb. Every time they spoke after that she seemed to have her hands on him, without even realising.

After the fourth time that day he realised that he had to do something if he wanted to keep his hair on his hand and not in her various combs. When her hands strayed to the end of his ponytail he smacked them away with an angry exhalation.

"Stop that."

She froze for a moment before pulling back with an expression of surprise. "I'm sorry Kanda, I hadn't realised..."

"How annoying that is? Well you know now. Leave my hair alone." He glared at her. "Honestly, if you've got enough time to sit here and harass me all day you should probably do something more productive with it. This is a barracks not a barber's and I don't have the time to be part of your girlish games."

She snapped her hands back and hung her head slightly, standing up to leave.

He had opened his mouth to press his advantage and stop this silly obsession when he saw on hand stray to her naked neck, bare of the hair he had always known. It clicked in his mind and caused a small surge of regret at his words. Awkwardly he reached out and rubbed the back of her head, feeling the short tufts.

"It'll grow." He said gruffly.

Her hug knocked the air out of a little and he thought he could hear her crying a little on his clothes. Rolling his eyes, he hurriedly stepped back to avoid a soaking. Hesitantly, his hand went to his hair. Tugging, he let it fall loose around his shoulders and held out the tie to the sniffing girl. She stared at it as she dried her eyes, wary of his swift mood change.

He indicated her hair with an embarrassed sweep of his hand. "For when it grows back."

She smiled as she took it from him. "You softie, Kanda."

He frowned and turned to walk away. "Anything if it'll get you to stop mauling my head every chance you get."

* * *

_**A/N: ****Waaay too fluffy. Also waaay too enjoyable.**_


	18. Novocaine

**Novocaine – An Allen/Road One-Shot**

**_There is an update before this, but the email alert apparently didn't go out. Go read it, it won't kill you. Probably._**

**_

* * *

  
_**

"Don't be silly, Allen," she laughed, leaning forward and getting right in his face, caressing it slightly. Allen back stepped in alarm.

"So uncomfortable! I'm not going to molest you, you know." Her barbed was smile was hardly comforting,

"You cannot fool me, Noah," said Allen, voice shaking. "Tell me what it is that you want."

"Oh, you ruin all the fun! I -like- you, Allen Walker. I don't get many entertaining playmates."

"I'm not a toy!"

"You don't seem to understand Allen, you are a toy. In the Earl's plans you're all just little toys to play with as we please."

Deep in the trees they could hear the voices of his companions calling for him.

"They're just friends you know Allen. With us, it's family. Family works for each other, they just weigh you down."

He gritted his teeth and went to cut her off, but then she was behind him, draping herself over him, cutting off his words.

"Friends can be taken away. They can lie to you." She stroked his neck with a candle. "You think we're the liars, but how much of what they say to you is truth?" Encouraged by his silence, she went on: "Take the Bookman boy for example... do you want to know why he's _really_ here?"

"Whatever his reason as a Bookman, he's still my friend and he's calling my name as a friend." He held himself resolute, seemingly unwilling to hurt her despite it all. The weakness frustrated her somewhat – a good fight was exhilarating in ways that would make his ears burn if he knew.

"He will record your death as a Bookman." She spoke complacently, tossing her candle up and down in her hand.

A second later the two halves fell to the leaves around their feet and her shoulder blades connected with a tree. Her hand snaked into his coat and around his waist, the other resting above his heart delicately. He tensed in her arms,

"I can't pull your heart out. I'm not Tyki." She smiled and pushed face right up into his, letting his shaggy white hair brush her nose and cheeks until they shared the same air. His eyes were wide open and angry, filled with some tormented or angsty thoughts. She enjoyed the look of them for a moment, imagined the ridiculously whiny thoughts behind them. She wondered if she could make him cry before his friends found him.

"As fun as that would be. I'll just have to break you in some other way." She let her lips brush his cheeks. There would definitely be tears. She traced the pattern of his curse mark with her tongue, imagining the taste of the taint, rolling her tongue around her mouth.

"You said you weren't going to molest me." He grunted as she placed a delicate kiss on his nose, feeling her nails digging into his back as a warning against movement.

She kissed his lips, enjoying his shaking reluctance, the subtle discomfort as she drove her nails into his flesh in time with his increasing heartbeat. She bit his lip as he tried to pull his face away, pouting that she didn't draw blood. "I lied."

"Thought so." He dropped to the floor, out of her grip and lashed out at her feet. She giggled with delight as she was forced to jump upwards and back into the tree branches. "Liar."

She pouted, faking hurt at his aggression. "Not to family..."

He took an offensive stance, facing her down, daring her to come out of her tree. She noted with extreme pleasure, just how flustered he was. Boys were so silly about kisses sometimes. It wasn't like she wore drugged lipstick. She liked it when he was angry and confused.

"You know..." she smiled down as she rolled onto her back, staring at the scene upside down. "You're far too fun to play with. I may just have to kill you someday."

* * *

_**A/N: **__**Gotta thank timydamonkey for providing the opening to title and some of Road's internal dialogue is an obscure Marilyn Monroe reference. We all know how much I love to throw those out there. Anyone else find writing Road x anyone kinda weird? Body of a 13 year old, mind of an uncontrollable pervert/psychopath, at least under my pen.**_


	19. Espresso

**Espresso – A Komui x Miranda One-Shot**

She recognised that gait. The slow, swaying, shambling gait, topped by a slumped torso and a dazed, drooling expression. That was the gait of a complete and utter coffee addict and one of the reasons for her own increased door-to-face collisions in the early hours of the morning. She watched in utter fascination as the subject careened off the walls in the corridor, cursing in Chinese at the apparently offensive flagstones until he reached the door frame. He slumped there theatrically, sagging at the knees as if he was propped up by sheer willpower. He stretched out one shaking hand to her with a gasping death rattle.

"Co....ffee..."

Miranda completely froze, mouth hanging open as the Supervisor collapsed onto the floor with a sigh. Gaping, she frantically looked for the coffee pot, which was currently doing what everything does when you need it most and pulling a very good disappearing act.

Eventually she spotted it, loitering nonchalantly between two stacks of paper, suspiciously and completely empty. She pointed at it, trying to explain that it was full the last time she saw it and she was certain nobody else had drunk it. Catching the sudden movement, the horizontal Komui flung himself towards it, scuttling frantically and drunkenly to the right. He got to the pot. He stared at the pot. The pot stared back, contriving to appear as innocent as possible. He looked at her with a hurt glance. His bottom lip quivered. The coffee pot sat there, indignantly reminding her of exactly who had emptied it. Tears beaded in the corner of his puppy-dog eyes. Her heart broke.

She made a vague gesture of commiseration with her left hand, currently clamped firmly around it's own supply of coffee. Komui's tearful eyes snapped to her hand. They narrowed, focused and assessed. His outraged neurons vocalised their intent.

Miranda had honestly never seen anything move that fast before, Germany not being well-known for it's community of caffeine-addicted cheetahs. Within an instant, the Supervisor was clutching her knees, eyes wide as saucers, whimpering in the back of his throat like a stray puppy. His beret drooped artfully to complete the picture of coffee-absent abjection.

"Mrr?" He reached out towards her, voice carefully calculated to elicit the right mix of maternal instinct and comple slavery to his needs.

Miranda twitched, forces raging inside her strung out mind. The coffee demons forced her fingers to close tighter on their precious source-mug, whilst her other hand involuntarily patted her whimpering Supervisor on the head.

The war raged on behind her eyes, demons urging her left hand towards her mouth, angels urging it downwards to the pathetic figure slumped across her feet. So distracted, she almost missed glint in his eye just before Komui launched himself upwards. The demons won in a spectacular landslide and she defiantly slurped down the scalding remnants of her coffee. Komui shot her a crazed look as he zeroed in on the last remaining source of caffeine. With a whoop and a return of the hitherto dazzling speed, he kissed her forcefully, knocking her knees out from under her with an addict's clumsiness and stealing the drugged dregs from her mouth.

Five minutes later, when the rage, confusion and coffee-lust had died, Miranda realised that the bastard had also stolen her mug. The empty coffee pot incited murder. But then, it always suggested that.

* * *

_**A/N:**__** Okay, I lied. Whatever I said before, I was lying. KomuixCoffeexMiranda is my OTP.**_

_**This was supposed to be a triple shot but a)I'm lazy, b)It wasn't working out and c)I was pretty psyched by some awesome reviews lately and I felt I couldn't leave you hanging any longer. Hey there to my new readers, thanks for reading :D**_

_**Updates on this and the DGM stuff may go a little slower as I'm working on another project as well, but I'll try to keep a balance. Stay with me, I promise good things.  
**_


	20. Caught

**Caught – A Lenalee x Reever One-Shot**

She was wearing the really short skirt today. On purpose obviously. To drive him mad. There was absolutely no other reason to wear something _that_ flimsy for office work.

Reever watched as she daintily picked her way through the treacherous stacks of paper to get to her brother's desk. On that note, why on earth was she helping out in this dingy office on a day like this? It was only 9am and Reever was already sweating in a way that wasn't completely connected to the aforementioned skirt. Pretty young girls like her should be outside enjoying this weather. Walking in a park, on the beach... in a bikini... He twitched and dropped a complicated and more importantly _heavy_ piece of equipment on his foot.

He straightened and readjusted his labcoat, watching to see if Komui had noticed any indiscretion. Thankfully, the man seemed completely absorbed in his phone conversation. Honestly, he chided himself, he was the premier scientist here. A sensible, well-adjusted, considerate and discreet man. Not the kind of man to be at all, in any way interested in his superior's younger sister. She waved at him and he nearly bit his tongue as he murmured some excuse to leave the room and go check himself into the infirmary for sudden and irreversible insanity.

"Yes of course... tomorrow... haha..." Komui babbled to the disconnected tone. His eyes narrowed as he watched his assistant leave the room muttering to himself. _Something is up. _His eyes flitted to his sister, pouring herself a cup of coffee on the other side of the room. _Et tu, Brute?...._ Reever was his best friend. So they'd start by talking.. Alone. With only mildly threatening gestures.

Reever banged his head on his desk for the fourth time, hoping that by the time he reached ten his mind would be completely rid of her. Komui suspected something. _Of course he suspects __**something**__, the man's default state is suspicious when it comes to Lenalee._ **Thud. **_Five. _He had stared at him through the entirety of dinner, not even looking away to eat his food. Which would normally have been disconcerting had he not spent most of his time trying to drag his gaze away from Lenalee, laughing at another table. **Thud. **_Six_. She wasn't helping _at all._ Smiling and waving whenever he saw her, bringing the team drinks at breaktime.** Thud. **_Seven._ Getting progressively less dressed as the heatwave continued. **Thud. **_Eight._ That was the real source of the problem though, the unbearable and oppressive heat. **Thud. **_Nine._ The start of summertime. Those thoughts of beaches of all things... **Thud. **_Ten. _He shuddered, mumbling furious curses against the sun. Shooting. That would help. Calming, relieving, masculine sport. No reason for her to be down there. He strode down to the range, cursing the Lee family. One was driving him nuts and the other was going to kill him if he worked it out. It just wasn't fair.

Correction. _This_ wasn't fair. The one place in the entirety of HQ he thought he could get away from the Lee family and their increasingly problematic presence in his life and yet there she was. Hurriedly he turned to leave, wondering if he could make it to the roof and throw himself off before he went completely insane.

"Reever!" Damnit, caught.

She called again, waving in a very... jiggly... way. And in the name of the Lord and all they fought for, what wasn't she wearing? He had handkerchieves that could cover her better than those shorts. He turned and smiled, trying very hard to look two metres above her head. _Any other girl, you idiot. Any other girl would be fine. Maybe a blonde. Just not Lenalee Lee. _

"Hey Lenalee." The wall was looking especially grey today, yes indeed. "What are you doing down here?"

She looked a little disappointed that he wasn't more excited to see her. "Well it's so hot out today and this is the coolest place in the building. I figured I'd come and enjoy it."

Reever didn't feel especially cool. In fact he thought he was going to melt.

"Doing some shooting?"

It took him a moment to realise that she'd asked a question.

"Yeah, it's been a while since I got some practice in, and like you said, it's a lot cooler here than the offices."

"Can I watch?"

He tried desperately to think of a way to say no, whilst his treacherous mouth took over and not only said yes, but said something about hitting every target. Treacherous, show off mouth.

Somehow he managed to hit the first target, whilst not thinking very hard about how cute she looked with the earmuffs on. Surprisingly he also hit the second, whilst not thinking very hard about how excited she looked when she cheered for him. In a miracle akin to the Second Coming (it was the first he was really worried about), he managed to ignore the way she couldn't take her eyes off him and hit the third target.

And then she was out of the viewing gallery and giving him a congratulatory kiss and he stopped thinking altogether. Except for the sensible, honest, Reever-ish side of his mind that took a step back from his apparent lapse into idiocy to declare that Komui was going to _kill_ him.

* * *

_**A/N:**** I apologise for the terrible OOC-ness in this. The only thing I can say is that I was sick, dammit, sick with cold. It all made sense then.**_


	21. Forever

**Forever – A Anita/Mahojo One-Shot**

Even now, she's holding it in. Even knowing that she's going to die, she is standing calm and strong at the helm of her ship, doing her duty. Mahojo can't help but smile, even now. There are so many things she would like to say to her, things that got lost in the day to day of duty. A hundred thank yous for a hundred little moments of delight, little smiles, little favours and good memories. A hundred more sorries for moments when she wasn't quite strong enough, when her words couldn't help and her actions were too awkward to soothe. And beyond that a hundred, a thousand, a million, a torrent of unsaid I love you's.

She thinks of all that she once was and once had.

When she first met Anita she was a skinny young girl, wary of the precocious daughter of an infamous madam. She expected her to be rude, coarse, arrogant... but all her expectations were shattered the moment she laid eyes on her. Anita had been quiet, pretty even then, but her smiles, her smiles bestowed kindness and the full grace of her soul on whoever she turned them to.

She fell in love then, gawking at the princess dressing her grazed knees, laughing at her tales, giving her strength when she had nothing. Sometimes when they were alone, she watched Anita struggle not to cry, wished she had the strength, the grace or the words to help her.

Mahojo had changed from that moment. She ignored the man her mother wanted her to marry, sneered at his weakness compared to Anita. She trained everyday, alone, lifting rocks, running miles, anything to become strong enough for Anita, to help her. Trained until she could kneel at her feet and tell her:

"I'll follow you forever, madam."

Well forever hadn't lasted as long as she'd thought, but it would never have been long enough anyway.

Mahojo lays her hand on her mistress's shoulder with a small smile, returned in kind. They stood there till the light of Time faded, the strong-woman and her stronger Captain.

* * *

_**A/N:**__** I love Anita so much. She's such a good character, and yet only with us for such a short time.**_


	22. Back In Black

**Back In Black – A Miranda x Reever One-Shot**

Somehow my day had conspired thus far to see the destruction of the Third Lab, the removal by fire of my eyebrows, and now for the piece de resistance, to thrust a very tearful, very attractive woman into my probably broken arms. Should change my job description: Reever Wenham, plaything of the gods.

It all started this morning, around ten when my Supervisor finally rolled off my couch to do some work. Almost as soon as the door shut, it opened again and there she was. The minute she walked into my office I knew this dame was trouble. She looked good in that uniform, I admit it. Almost too good to be true. Something just didn't fit. But one look at those tired, smudged eyes and I knew I couldn't say no to her. I'm a damned fool for pretty eyes.

She said her name was Miranda Lotto, and I guessed it was probably true. She didn't seem the type to try that lie. Said she wanted to help. Now that's unusual in itself, shoulda tipped me off I guess. Normally these girls come in asking for _my_ help. Want to find a lost kitty cat, a trinket, Marian Cross usually (the smug bastard). But this girl wanted to help _me_. Well I wasn't going to turn her away, not with eyes like that. Plus, she looked _really_ good in that uniform.

So I took her on. Nothing much, a little bit of paperwork, answering a phone. Turned out she made a damn good cup of coffee.

I think things started to go wrong when I took her for lunch. Don't give me that look, I was just escorting her, like a gentleman. A reward for a productive morning. Distracted by an item of work, I let her carry our meals to our table where trouble struck like an angry viper with a tiger at its tail. Apparently confused by his benign appearance, she sat next to our resident jerk, Kanda. The son of a gun took aim and didn't miss, his sharp-shooting mouth had her crying in seconds. Backing away, she hit the table and the one next to it, sending the food on both to the floor. I could see him preparing to cut her down more, Jerry muscling up in the background to add his piece and knew she couldn't stand it. Pushing her out the door I took the blow – what gentleman wouldn't? An exchange of wit turned into a brief exchange of fists, until Jerry hauled us apart and threw me out. No matter. I'm a smooth kinda guy, it takes more than that to ruffle my feathers. Paid my dues and slipped out the back, flicking my collar up to hide the bruise.

Back in my office her tears continued, despite my words of comfort. The dame had more water in her than Niagara I swear, kept telling me how useless she was, how much she just wanted to be of help. All flailing hands and heaving bosom she leaned in close and I thought my world had got smaller, how much bigger her quivering lips looked. She looked up at me with those huge eyes and asked me what she could do to make it up to me.

I coulda bit through my tongue. The girl wielded her beauty like an amateur fencer wielding a sword: clumsy but it definitely hit home. I couldn't take advantage of it, that just ain't how I was brought up. I stood, straightened my coat, tried to regain my composure, trying to think of anything but her. Beautiful fountains, trains... everything seemed tainted by my desire for the girl who looked good in her uniform.

"Dinner, perhaps?"

She nodded enthusiastically, and started chatting brightly about what to cook.

I had to get away, get a drink, think of anything but her crawling closer in my lap. I slumped in my deskchair and reached into my drawer for my trusty bottle of cola. Already half-empty, it didn't do much but at least it took my mind off her for a moment. I contemplated the glass numbly. What kinda trouble had I got myself into this time?

Three minutes later, the answer came and it didn't bother to knock. There I was, comfortable, half drifting off when my desk starts shaking. I wasn't too stunned, we've got some big machines in this wing. Besides, I'd hate to see the damage if Ms Lotto decided to run anywhere. The next thing I know there's a hole in my floor and a wall of flame not a foot away from my face. Well, I screamed like a virgin on her wedding night and I'm not afraid to admit it, and kept screaming till the flames had retreated.

Like the blind leading the blind, more trouble was to follow. Ms Lotto burst in through the door and into my arms again, knocking me to the floor. Can't say I minded the view, but the girl could do with being more gentle you know? So that's how we got here, lying on the floor in the smoking wreck of my office.

Well there's only one thing you can do in a situation like that, but it's not like a gentleman to kiss and tell.

* * *

_**A/N:**__** You can blame my film studies class for this, it's got me obsessing with film noir cliches. I'm not fond of this, but it amused me at some points.**_


	23. Useless

**Useless – A Miranda/Lenalee One-Shot**

Lenalee had been silent since Lavi's rant, staring at a knot in the floor with a forced intensity. Her fingers were bunched in her skirt, knuckles just showing white between the black folds. Her breathing was far too regular, carefully timed and controlled. In, two, three. Hold, two, three. Out, two three.

Miranda found herself breathing along with her, tapping her fingers on the disc of Innocence on her wrist. Its quiet humming filled the air, almost drowning out the whisper-quiet breaths.

"Lenalee...?"

The girl didn't respond, didn't show a single sign of having heard her speak. Just breathed in... and out. The tear tracks were drying on her face but her eyes were still red and damp. The next breath caught in her throat like that of a dying man, rasping harshly. Miranda looked up to find herself caught in the blank gaze of those eyes, transfixed as Lenalee spoke, in the same hoarse whisper.

"Miranda..." In, out, faster this time. "Why... do people die?"

A myriad useless, pathetic phrases coursed through her mind, none of them adequate to soothe the heart breaking in the belly of this ramshackle ship. She hovered in front of the younger woman, mouth agape in lieu of words.

"Why couldn't I save him?" Her nails were embedded in her knees, but she didn't seem to notice. Miranda wondered dizzily if she was going to draw blood, blood in compensation for that spilled.

"I was given this power to save people. To protect people. To protect my _friends_. I failed two of them today. Wasn't fast enough, wasn't strong enough... wasn't... wasn't good enough... Just _useless._ Both of them _gone_... and it's my fault... This... this all... It's the start of the end of the world."

Her eyes dropped to look at the beads of blood forming on her legs. Miranda remained silent, the words ringing in her head in time to a familiar script.

"Suman used to look after me as a child. When he could, if Komui was busy. He always had time for me... always. He bought me ribbons for my hair once, for Christmas and told me not to cry when my brother was working." She took a deep breath, shuddering with the effort of fighting back the emotion enough to keep talking.

"I should have been there to save him. I owed him that, as a friend... to save him." Her hair fell in front of her face and she made no move to brush it back. Miranda watched it grow damp with fresh tears, sticking to her face and mouth. "And Allen..." Her shoulders shook violently, on the verge of hysterics. "_I should have been there!_"

Miranda dropped to her knees in front of her, heart in her mouth.

"_I should have been there. He **needed** me."_

They fell silent for a long while, each processing the burdens of the day.

"I know Lavi is right. But is it so wrong to wish for it to be different? To turn back the hours? You would know..." She tried a wry smile but it felt flat and fake on her face. "Is it wrong to want to change the past?"

"Lenalee..." Miranda chided her gently, lifting the girl's chin until she could see her eyes. "It's only human to want to change things and to feel powerless that you can't. I wish... that I could make it different for you, that my Innocence would allow it, that I knew how to use it. _That_ makes me feel useless." She sat next to the girl, slipped her arm around her and pulled her closer.

"But you're not useless, no matter how much you feel like it. You, Allen, me... we've all come so far since we first met. Do you remember that? How strong you both were? You were awe inspiring, how far you'd go to protect me, to protect each other. You can't ignore that, you just can't. You made me feel like I could do something good for once..."

She kissed Lenalee's hair as she held her close.

"I can't change the past, but you can change the future. We'll do it together. Make it a future Allen would be proud of."

"Together?" Lenalee's voice barely carried to her ears.

"I promise."

* * *

_**A/N:**__** Can I do anything but apologise for how maddeningly depressing the last few High Seas prompts have been? Never fear, comedy soon. I promise.**_

_**Can't seem to write anything overtly shippy. Should change this to the "mild and occasionally over-friendly interaction" collection.  
**_


	24. Angels

**Angel – A Johnny/Reever One-Shot**

"Johnny! Johnny, look out!"

The bespectacled scientist shook himself out of his daze, looking for the interruption to his academia and finding it in the form of a wall of equipment accelerating in a downwards motion towards his face.

"A-ah!" His survival instincts sluggishly kicked in and he began darting from left to right, arms over his head, eyes inexplicably closed as if that would stop him being crushed by a half tonne of books and beakers. The pain started in his side for some reason, as something heavy caught him under his ribs, knocking him to the side and onto the floor. He whimpered as glass began breaking, waiting for the inevitable. He wondered if dying really hurt that much – was there a scale of pain it could be measured on? He was sure Keaney had begun research into an empirical observation of pain types, but had it ever been finished? It wasn't like he'd have time to find out now...

The floor shuddered as the shelving collided with it, throwing up shrapnel in the form of broken glass and bent hardbacks. For a moment dust obscured everything, including Johnny's brief, panicky musings on the afterlife and places in it for atheists.

When he pried open his eyes (they stung, was that normal for a post-death experience? Surely pain was impossible without a physical body...) he was confronted with a shield of white, radiating heat mere inches from his nose. It smelled like paper and gunpowder and oil, the comforting smells of a scientist, or academic arsonist, depending on your experience. He seemed to hear breathing other than his own, coming from above. Squinting through a crack in his glasses (the glasses came too? How unfair), he craned his neck backwards to look upon the face of whichever deity had plucked up his soul.

He'd never really expected a god to look like Reever.

Or to curse like him either.

The other man exhaled a series of syllables that would shock and insult a dingo, but made very little sense to the bemused little man trapped underneath him. Suddenly his eyes focussed on the reason for his pain and sudden relocation to the floor. Worried, he grabbed the shoulders of his subordinate and stared into his eyes, searching for signs of concussion.

"Johnny! Are you alright?

Johnny wriggled his lips, trying to find the words to ask God why he looked like Reever, and what on earth it was he'd just implied.

Maybe it was an angel. Yeah. Angels were attractive, at least in mythology.

"...angel..."

"Angels? He _must_ be concussed! He spent three days lecturing us all on the impossibility of the existence of angels!"

Arms wrapped around the little scientist and pulled him up. His feet dangled to one side, reclining unsteadily as his perch lurched with the effort of standing.

"I'll take him to the Matron. You lot start cleaning that up! Don't whinge, just be thankful it wasn't one of the analytical engines. And find out what caused it to fall!"

He was a little uncertain as to where he was being taken – some kind of soul processing plant? He hummed as he envisioned the kind of divine technology that would take. Would there be reassignment? He shifted a little against the chest of the Reever-angel, causing them to slow.

Hesitantly he stared at the stubbled chin above him as another thought leaped out of the dizzying mess. What was the appropriate etiquette to thanking an angel? A pat on the shoulder? A hug? Maybe a kiss... He decided to try it, shifting forward just enough to brush his lips tentatively against the neck of his deliverer. He thought he saw a smile moving the muscles just above his face, but it slipped out of focus as he closed his eyes.

He spent three embarrassing days in the Infirmary, recovering from a concussion and reliving his indiscretion every hour or so. What would Reever think? What if he'd told the _Department?_ Although the experience could make for an interesting dissertation into the effects of office bullying on productivity, he doubted he could handle the humiliation.

* * *

It was with a certain amount of nervousness that he walked into the Department a few days later, sidling between people, nodding tentatively at their questions after his health. He was so intent on avoiding eye-contact that he didn't even notice the man in his path until he'd walked right into the particularly solid wall of human in front of him. A strong smell of gunpowder and paper...

For a moment he was afraid he'd squeaked, stumbling backwards and searching desperately for something to stare at that didn't involve Reever. Or Reever's chest. Or that little spot on his neck where he'd – oh look, the floor. That was interesting. It certainly didn't make any demands of him and definitely didn't in any way remind him of the fact that he'd kissed his superior.

There was a pause and then a pressure on his head. He looked up as Reever ruffled his hair with a familiar smile, clipboard in the other hand.

"How are you feeling, angel-boy?"

Johnny decided that as long as it was from Reever and Reever alone, angel-boy was a nickname he could handle.

* * *

_**A/N:**** Not dead, napping.**_


	25. Marry Me

**Marry Me - Chaoji x Anita One-Shot**

He was going to marry her. He'd decided, about an hour ago, leaning over a keg in the local slophouse. He, Chaoji Han, would marry mistress Anita. They had laughed at him when he announced it, but when it became clear that he was serious, or at least serious enough to buy a round of celebratory drinks, they'd cheered him on wildly.

It had started simply enough, his infatuation. He'd known her for so long, he wasn't sure when she had become this beautiful. He'd just turned around one day and there she was, smiling at him, applauding the size of the fish he had caught. She took his breath away. For a moment he had to just stand there, staring at her, unable to think as the blood rushed to his face. In a mock chivalric manner he had taken his catch, got down on one knee and presented it to her. She had laughed, accepted the gift, providing that he de scaled it at least. They'd cooked it together on a messy fire, picking fish from the bones and feeding it to each other as the sun went down, then hurried home laughing to wash off the grease.

She'd never looked so beautiful as she did then, running down twisty lanes, hair flying out behind her, always just ahead of him.

He remembered their summers most of all, their perfect idyllic country summers. They were the very image of what he'd always wanted for himself, for his family. Fishing barefoot in the creek, skirts tucked into underwear, trousers rolled up. Picnics in meadows. Sunsets. Perfect ends to endless days.

When her mother died that stopped somewhat. But it lived on. He still told the stories. Like the time she fell out of the big tree on the common and scraped her arms and legs up so badly she had to wear long sleeves for the rest of the summer. How he'd carried her home, scared that she was seriously injured. How she flung her arms around his neck and giggled at him, telling him that she was okay. When he carried her over the threshold of her house, she laughed again and said it was practice for his real wife. He still told the stories, to anyone who would listen. And so, when they had grown tired of listening one man had said "Well jeez kid, why don't you just marry her then." Chaoji replied in kind: "I will.".

So that was how he ended up wandering the streets to her house at three in the morning, his grandmother's wedding ring clutched firmly in one hand. It was how he ended up outside her window, trying to think of the words to say until he fell asleep, still fumbling for the right phrases to tell Anita just how much he loved her. The right words to make her his bride.

When he woke up she was standing over him, the sun pouring golden through her hair, warm as her smiles.

"We're going to Japan."

His heart skipped a beat, as it always did when she spoke to him. He couldn't quite focus on what she was saying, she was so close, so warm, so radiant. _Anita, will you... _Even when she moved away, he struggled to find the words to say to bring her back. _Marry me?_ The ring cut into his palm.

"Well? Are you coming with me?"

She held out her hand. _Come with me. _He looked at it, imagined his ring on her finger._ Marry me. _He looked at his own, rough, callused, one bloodied, one clean and decided it wasn't the time. To propose to a woman like her, the timing had to be perfect. On the dirty stones outside her house would never do. Grinning, he pushed the ring into his pocket and stood, pulling her into a hug with his free arm as she started to tell him their plans for departure.

He would ask her to marry him later. There would always be time. Perfect, endless summer days for perfect moments, for perfect words.

_Yes, I will._

_

* * *

_

_**A/N:**** Unbeta'd but put up to prove that I am not dead. I am however taking a hiatus through November because my internet sucks and I have final assessments to write. Unfortunately I cannot write fanfiction for them. **_

**_I will be back in December though, and anyone who follows me here or on my LJ might get a little surprise come my return._  
**


	26. History

**History**

History is always causally logical. This event affects these events which cause this event. One moment can change the path of everything. One man dying on the battlefield can affect the outcome of the battle, whether he is a king, a commander or a private. But he will not be the only person to fall on that field. There will be hundreds more whose lives are just as interesting, just as important whose achievements will be cut short. The difference is the factor of _history_. Their deaths are not historically important. This is what Bookman Junior has always been told, the ideology he embraces. The overall tide of history is what must be recorded, the flow of time and action from event to event. Those whose lives form the current are merely background noise.

This is what Bookman is reminding him as they row into the Black Order headquarters, hands tucked primly in his sleeves. Bookman is staring past him, as he often does when he lectures him, as if he is reading it from a wall in the distance. It is a catechism he knows well: "Do not get involved", "Stay impartial". Watch for the turning points and forget everything else.

And it would have been easy, so easy, if he hadn't met them. Or met her.

He remembered the first time he saw her, in the middle of the mass funeral, his first contact with their war. His war. He had looked down, dispassionately. This wasn't the first death he had seen, and it wouldn't be the last. Even the scale didn't surprise him. After forty-eight wars he had become numb to the amount of themselves humans could kill through sheer stupidity. His eyes flitted over the mourners, bored, until something caught his attention. The feeling of being watched. It took him a while to spot her, crouched amongst a gaggle of nurses. She looked small, and young, and frail and utterly negligible, except for her eyes. They bored into him, even from this far away, with an intensity he'd never seen before. She was crying.

She cried for everyone, he found out later. She walked amongst the coffins and cried, laying a hand on one here, and another one there. She told him little things about every single one of them. Maurice liked dogs, had three at home. Mary played fourteen instruments and liked the rain. He recorded all of the names, for history, and all the details for himself. He recorded the way her hair stuck to her face when she cried. He recorded the way she sipped her tea. He recorded all the little details that were important to him, the hundreds, the thousands of way she made him feel wanted that history would forget.

He wondered sometimes, what life would have been like if he'd been the Bookman after. To look back at the Black Order, and look at her name and know nothing about her. It didn't seem fair, that all those who would come after wouldn't know that she couldn't whistle and she liked the colour blue. He wondered if there would be a time, when this was all over, when he could separate her name from the way she made him feel. If he could read it and not smile.

He wanted to hate her, for the way she could mourn. For the way she could fall in love. He thought if he could it would make it easier.

He didn't hate her of course. That would have been easy.

Instead he fell in love.

Instead he had to live with the knowledge that eventually he would abandon her. That love couldn't overcome history. She would be erased, eventually, in this war. She would die and he would write it down. Just the facts, when, where, how. It was better than nothing, to be included in this hidden history rather than just disappearing. He knew that.

* * *

**_A/N: I am in the middle of writing my dissertation. It's about zombies. It's slowly decreasing my brain function and devouring my creativity. I'm trying to get back into the swing of fanfic, please excuse any delays, blips, blurps or brainfarts._**


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